Confessions of an Ice Queen
by Sam Mallory
Summary: An introspective of Scully. Angsty much? R/R Please.


Title: Confessions of an Ice Queen  
  
Author: Samantha Mallory  
  
Spoilers: all things  
  
Summary: An introspective of Scully.  
  
Rating: PG, just because  
  
Disclaimer: X-Files belongs to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. No infringement is intended.  
  
Author's Notes at end  
  
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I wasn't always this way. I can remember quite clearly how excited I would get at the least little thing. Holidays, birthdays, even the dawn of a new day would make me happier than I've felt in a long time.  
  
When I was sad, it was much the same way. For no particular reason, I would start crying, and I couldn't stop until pain in my chest and eyes forced the tears away. Ahab always hated it when I started on one of my crying fits. If he couldn't get me to laugh within a couple of minutes, I was sent to my room to get it out of my system. I really hated that isolation.  
  
One day while I was still quite young, I think I was about five, I figured out that the exiles to my room would stop if I didn't cry. The solution came after that. I couldn't let my sadness rule me.  
  
At first, I tried to just control the depression. I found, though, that other emotions brought me to tears. When I was extremely happy or grateful, the urge to cry was there. I discovered that I actually cried the most when I was angry. Quickly, the mission to control depression became the mission to control everything I felt.  
  
I became very good at it. In very little time, I was able to stop crying before I even started. My parents were delighted. They seemed to think I was happier, even though I showed fewer signs of actual joy.  
  
By the time I reached junior high, I realized that I didn't have to control the emotions anymore. They were gone. I was basically dead inside.  
  
Whenever I was around other people, I would pretend to be happy for their sakes. It got harder to do so as the years went by. I began to lose what joy felt like, so I became less convincing at faking it. At times, I would forget that I was supposed to be emotional like all the others. My face would lose whatever expression I had put there and become blank, neutral. That is when I became the Ice Queen.  
  
That nickname has followed me around since the beginning of high school. At first, I didn't care. Why should I? I never *felt* the reason to. But then something changed.  
  
I went to high school during the late 70s and early 80s. The vast majority of America was concerned with themselves. What do I like? What can I do to make myself a better person? Most importantly, how do I feel?  
  
My thought was, since everyone else is getting in touch with their emotions, why can't I? Unfortunately, there was nothing for me to get in touch with. Only one emotion came back to me. Despair. Grief filled me because I was no longer like anyone else, a feeling human being. The mood ring I wore all through freshman year, for the sake of fashion, mocked me. It always remained dark blue, the color of extreme happiness and love, the exact opposite of what I felt. Everytime I looked at it, I felt like crying.  
  
Which I did. Often. With the return of despair came the return of the tears. It actually became a part of my normal routine. Every time I felt the sadness creeping in, I bottled it up for later. On Sunday night, I would go to bed early and quietly cry myself to sleep. By the time Monday morning rolled around, my weakness was hidden and my balance restored.  
  
You see, the reason I went so long before trying to return feeling to my life was that I saw it as weakness. If you showed your emotions, which you often do when you have them, others could use that against you. I never wanted to be used, but during the emotional revolution of the 70s, I began to think that maybe that wouldn't be so bad.  
  
A few times, I reached a point where I thought that maybe all I needed was outside help. I approached both my mother and Missy, the two people I could trust with my dilemma. They both said it was merely a phase, and that once I was through with puberty, I would be alright. I knew that wasn't true since I had been emotionless for so long. I tried to explain that to them, but they simply wouldn't hear of it. They said I was being melodramatic.  
  
This forced me to make an intellectual decision. Since an action on my part brought back one emotion, perhaps more action would bring back others. I became more active. I joined clubs in the hope they would bring joy. I saw as many movies of as many genres as I could, hoping I would have the appropriate reaction. I began dating, in the hopes the right man could make me feel love. Or, at the very least, lust.  
  
Nothing worked. By the time I realized this, I was in college. I made another decision. If I couldn't rid myself of this emptiness, I could at least use it to my advantage. I began to study forensic pathology.  
  
I excelled at it. Unlike the other students, I did not feel disgust when it came to autopsies. I felt no sympathy for the dead. I felt nothing, and it helped me do well.  
  
Shortly after I became a doctor, I realized my mistake. If I had studied any other field of medicine, I could have made other people feel better, and therefore have given myself a sense of satisfaction. There was nothing you could do for the dead.  
  
This realization led me to join the FBI. The study of the dead could bring criminals to justice, making the general public feel safe. I was also helping them stay alive.  
  
Up until recently, there was only one thing I actually loved, and that was life. Every day, after greeting a new dawn, I could learn and experience new things. Even if I could only appreciate what was going on around me with my mind, I loved having the chance to do so.  
  
The major turning point of my life was the fateful day of my meeting with Section Chief Blevins.  
  
I went in with a small smile plastered on my face, and I kept it there for the whole meeting. Even if I didn't feel the sentiment behind it, I could use the smile to let my superior know that I was confident in myself and my job.  
  
Blevins assigned me to the X-Files. At the time, I wasn't sure what that entailed. I, obviously, did not dread it. Quite the opposite. I thought that perhaps being put on something I didn't completely understand with my mind would force me to reawaken my emotions and understand with them. I was partly right.  
  
The first time I walked into the basement office and saw Agent Fox Mulder, I had a feeling for the first time since high school. Sexual attraction. I suddenly wanted my new partner so bad that I nearly jumped him right then and there.  
  
Its hard to understand how powerful attraction can be when you've never felt it before. I was totally unprepared for it, but fortunately those early years of emotional suppression helped to control it. As a result, I was a little distracted. In that first meeting with Mulder, I'm sure I didn't come across as too intelligent or self-assured. There's no use worrying about it now because the past is gone.  
  
That's a very important point. I *can* worry now. Every day I've spent with Mulder, new emotions have emerged.  
  
Joy, like when he gave me batting lessons.  
  
Amusement for every time he makes an innuendo.  
  
Jealousy when he's with other women. Phoebe, Dr. Bambi, Detective White. I swear to God I could have killed Diana Fowley with my bare hands if given the chance.  
  
Sometimes, like with jealousy, the emotions can be hard to bear. When my father and sister died, it was nearly more than I could stand. Fear nearly kills me everytime Mulder disappears. I have been told, though, that that is a normal enough emotion for a woman in love.  
  
And there's the root of everything. I, a woman who couldn't feel for the majority of her life, am so enamored with my partner that I would die for him. And I don't even have the courage to let him know.  
  
Love is a funny thing. For such a complex emotion, you can usually find one reason above all others for why people feel it. Some people fall in love because a person makes them feel young, or makes them feel beautiful, or makes them feel special. I fell in love with Mulder simply because he makes me *feel*. That may sound selfish, but I can't help it. I'm in love with Fox Mulder.  
  
And I guess that's why I'm here. Today's events confused me greatly. Seeing Daniel, having a vision, chasing a woman that wasn't there. That's too much to handle all at once. So I sought solace from the one person whom I knew I could trust.  
  
Seeing Mulder when I was chasing that woman was obviously a sign, and not a very subtle one. I went with him back to his apartment. I told him everything, and we discussed the nature of fate.  
  
Its times like these where I wished that I had more friends, ones who had felt their whole lives. I would ask them what to do in this sort of situation.  
  
As it was, I had to improvise. The way Mulder and I were sitting so close, the way we spoke so tenderly, the way Mulder looked at me. It was all so beautiful, and I was afraid I would ruin it by saying something better left unsaid. So I pretended to fall asleep.  
  
Mulder was a true gentleman, as always. He covered me with a blanket, gently touched my cheek, and left. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me again, like he did at New Year's.  
  
Deep inside, I'm tempted to go after him, to make love to him. But my fear that I'm wrong about us and I'll be rejected, or that everything will change, battles for supremacy.  
  
I'm left with one question. What do I do now?  
  
  
  
Author's Notes: This is the first fanfic I've ever posted. And it's the first first person POV that I've written in many, many years. Please let me know what you think. Should I continue writing fanfic? Should I continue writing at all? All you have to do is push that little review button to let me know. Thanks.  
  
P.S. Please R/R. If I get a good enough response, I may write another chapter. 


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